


I hear you calling in the dead of night

by Rupzydaisy



Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Missing Scene, With A Smidge Of Fluff, pre-Veld, prompt: soldier, wondertrev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rupzydaisy/pseuds/Rupzydaisy
Summary: “Every sword is different, it helps with getting used to the grip, the weight of it. How it moves. The Godkiller is just the same.” The confidence of holding it between her fingers only bolstered her resolve. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before she would have to meet Ares on the battlefield, and everything she had been taught would finally need to be put to use. There wasn’t room to falter or to fail, not when the fate of so many human lives hung in the balance.She squared her shoulders, swinging the sword up before leaping into the air, only to bring it and her feet crashing back down to the ground. When Steve inhaled sharply, feeling the earth move under his feet, she couldn’t help but smile.“I can’t imagine it. Fighting with a sword.”“Why don't you try, it’s what human men did, not so long ago.”He had laughed at that, but when she found his shoulder in the dark, he fell quiet and leaned into her touch.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Wondertrev Week 2020





	I hear you calling in the dead of night

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for wondertrevweek 2020 - Day 2: Soldier  
> Title from Overjoyed, Bastille ;)

Some nights, Diana ended up working later either because she was catching up to meet a deadline after taking time off for her world-saving efforts, or simply because she was so engrossed in a project that it made no sense to leave. 

Then there were the times she stayed back because she didn’t want to walk home and sleep, and though they were fewer, those nights felt just as long. A restless would creep into her and linger, blurring the words on the pages on her desk. Soft murmurs and laughs would echo in quieter spaces from almost-forgotten voices, and she would cling to the memories. It was then that the company of others around her felt less like talking to ghosts still tangible in the remains of the pottery and shards of history around her and yet her mother's last words would always end up drifting back into her thoughts.

That was when she’d find herself wishing the last of her colleagues a good night as they packed up their desks and left to go home to their families and friends, their husbands and wives and cooked dinners with wine, and their easier dreams. 

It became a habit of hers, to head upstairs and walk through the silent corridors under the half lights. Each room took her through a brief snapshot of history, a century of decade neatly summarised on a wall panel. The world of men forever turned onwards, making leaps and bounds into a bright and dazzling future while wars and devastation nipped at their heels. Ares' shadow had never really left, but still they dreamed of peace and hoped for better, and that made her heart gladder with each long year after the Great War. 

Crammed within the walls of the museum, of every museum she had worked at over the past few decades, were artefacts and scraps of history that visitors used as touchstones. They would come and gaze on them, and she enjoyed watching them, even volunteering to take on the school tours rota. It made her wonder about the thick tomes in the library on Themyscira and how much richness was between its walls and in her mother's vault, and how much was now unknown since they had been separated from man's world. 

Diana lingered in the Ancient Greek exhibition with the spotless panes of glass between her and those pieces of history until the last security guard making his final walk round of the night reminded her she'd need to return to the staff area so he could set the alarm.

"Good night, ma'am." He told her, and she wished him a good night in return without quite seeing him. 

Back in the office there were pieces of history yet to be placed in glass boxes. Some of the more fragile pieces were packed safely, but there were others laid out, half catalogued or half cleaned, with pottery being the most common find, although the benches were equally scattered with reference books and tools. Diana made her way back to her desk past between the benches but then paused to reach out and touch the cool, crumbling edges. A hundred years easily spanned the two separate fragments sitting side by side. 

She sat down on the workbench closest to the newest shipments and quickly flipped through the papers resting on top which gave a full item list of the contents. While scanning through, she noticed that a sword was included in the batch of urns, coins, and a pair of brooches. The crate was easy to pick out, longer and narrower than the standard ones. It had already been opened but the sword hadn’t been removed from the layers of packing and the smell of the straw she parted reminded her of the stables and early morning rides. 

Diana brushed off the cushioning straw enveloping the sword without even thinking. Her hands drifted to the solidness underneath and wrapped themselves around the warming metal. She lifted it out easily, as if to draw it from a sheath, and found that the blade was rusted as to be expected and the hilt chipped, but overall it had travelled through the centuries well enough to stay intact. _How long had it been since it was last drawn as it was meant to be?_

In the silent depths of the museum basement, Diana Prince closed her eyes and heard the grass flutter under the warm sea breeze rising off the tops of the cliffs and washing over the island she would _always_ call home. With her eyes tightly closed, she moved her feet through the different stances, just as her aunt had taught her when she was a young girl. It had been a long time since she had held a sword, or trained properly, but the memory of it would not leave her. Other memories slowly flooded over her in the dead of night, while the rhythm of her moving feet, arms, and the slow, deep breaths she took sent her further into the currents of her past. 

She remembered the thumps of her feet against the stone pathways around the city centre, and how she had dropped from the side of one staircase to another after slipping out from the library after a morning of tedious study. Moments before, her tutor had sat down and opened up a hefty scroll while expecting Diana to continue with her own writing exercises. Only a distracted scholar was the easiest kind of tutor to evade, and it wasn't long before she was tearing her way through the city's streets towards the training field to watch the archers practise. 

When Diana took a step back, her shoe slid against the carpeted floor but all she could hear the sound of her bare feet pounding against the sand, her muffled footsteps swallowed in moments by the rising tide and the wide expanse of blue that merged with the rich azure of the skies.

As her memories circled back, pulling her deeper, she could recall the thick smell of smoke from a hastily constructed fire in the deep Belgian countryside where Sameer and Charlie sat, snapping off pieces of the last half of a chocolate bar that Chief had fished out of his many pockets, “Sorry it’s not much.” 

“Yeah, we know.” Charlie had harrumphed but the scowl on his face had been pushed aside momentarily despite the meagre portion. “Those children would appreciate it more than us anyway.” 

“Diana, last piece going…” Steve looked across the firelight as he pulled off his gloves and stretched out his fingers in the heat. The flames illuminated his hands to a golden orange and played across the pale skin. “Better get it before Sameer does.” 

She took the piece Charlie held out of reach from Sameer and folded it back up into the paper sleeve. “I’ll save it for the morning, if it’s going to be as cold as last night.” 

“Aye, if you have that kind of self-control.” The Scotsman laughed grimly, “But who knows, you’ve made it this far and haven’t run for the hills. Tomorrow, we are headed that much closer to the front, and all its horrors.” 

“Early night for everyone then.” Steve shot back a smile as he gathered up his guns. He replaced them back into his bags and belt just as she had stood and stretched out her legs before stepping away from the small circle of warmth. He blinked, tired from a full day of moving across war torn land. "Diana? Where are you going?” 

She paused halfway up the slope of the hill that they had set up their camp behind. “If we’re going to reach the war tomorrow, then I want to use this time to practise.”

“Practise? With what, you’ve not brought anything with you?” Charlie nodded thoughtfully to himself. “I guess I can lend you my rifle, if you want.” 

Steve caught sight of her frown and raised his hand, stopping Charlie from getting up from his seat. “She’s not so keen on guns.” 

“No?” Sameer asked as she carried on walking up the side of the hill and disappeared over the top. Although she was out of sight, Diana was not out of earshot and she could still hear their voices float up into the air like the smoke from the fire. 

“Yeah, something about them not being an honourable weapon.” Steve answered, leaving the explanation at that. 

Chief's voice was quieter, “She’s right about that.” 

“I’ll go with her.” Steve had told them and then quickly scrambled up the hill to follow her into the dark. 

He had found her a short walk away from their campsite, behind a cluster of trees where she had shed the thick cloak and drawn her sword from its sheath strapped to her back. She lunged at the shadows, before skipping back to twist and then slice the empty air around her, not stopping even when she heard the steady pace of his footsteps approaching. 

“That’s never not going to be impressive.” 

She turned around to look at him, squinting in the faint moonlight concealed by the thick clouds to make out his silhouette. “Years of training. My aunt was the finest warrior out of all the Amazons.” 

“You seem pretty attached to it. Is that her sword?” 

“No, it’s not.” Diana sighed into the darkness, “It’s new to me, which is why I wanted to practise.” 

She lifted it up, lining it up with her arm and following through with the weight of it as she dropped it down and twisted her wrist in a tight circle. 

“So, how do you do that?” His voice came out through the dark, but she knew there was a smile on his lips, even though he was as tired as the others. It felt like they were back on the boat, lying side by side, where everything still had the haziness of being _new_ and different. 

“Every sword is different, it helps with getting used to the grip, the weight of it. How it moves. The Godkiller is just the same.” The confidence of holding it between her fingers only bolstered her resolve. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before she would have to meet Ares on the battlefield, and everything she had been taught would finally need to be put to use. There wasn’t room to falter or to fail, not when the fate of so many human lives hung in the balance. 

She squared her shoulders, swinging the sword up before leaping into the air, only to bring it and her feet crashing back down to the ground. When Steve inhaled sharply, feeling the earth move under his feet, she couldn’t help but smile. 

“I can’t imagine it. Fighting with a sword.” 

“Why don't you try, it’s what human men did, not so long ago.” 

He had laughed at that, but when she found his shoulder in the dark, he fell quiet and leaned into her touch.

Diana followed the line down his arm to find his hand and pushed the sword into it until his fingers curled around tight underneath hers. After a few moments, he lifted it slightly and the cloud cover thinned enough for her to see his face more clearly. When Steve cleared his throat, she leaned closer towards him and put her hands onto his shoulders, feeling him shift underneath her hands. 

“It comes naturally, step forwards. There, and then strike.” 

She took Steve through some easier moves, adjusting his balance and his arms as he went, and listening to him mutter to himself under his breath as he repeated her instructions. “And you’re sure I won’t hurt you when I'm swinging this around?”

Diana had laughed back at him, her hand warm on his, and feeling wistful about her aunt’s memory again while still feeling the gaping loss of her presence. “With my years of training under General Hippolyta? No, you couldn’t if you tried.” 

The weight of the sadness suddenly gaped wider than she remembered. The darkness seemed to envelop the night sky and the few stars twinkling above, taking the faint imprint of Steve's face along with it, leaving only a faint impression of a particular shade of blue and the vague echo of a laugh ringing in her ears. 

Her eyes snapped open and Diana found herself back in the museum basement with its low ceiling and carpeted floor, her cheeks damp with tears but there was a soft smile on her face. When her colleagues walked in the next morning and shucked off their handbags and briefcases, Diana slung her handbag onto her shoulder and greeted them as she walked out. “Good morning! I’ll get us all coffee.” 

Her heels thumped on the floor as she walked down towards the elevator, and inside the office, they saw that her workbench was cluttered with her overnight efforts on a partially restored sword.


End file.
